A Butchered Piece of Meat: A Loud House Creepypasta
by AdrianaCartoonFangirl
Summary: Clyde invites Lincoln over to his house to see his "new hobby", which is scary and dangerous. Warning: contains self-harm, a lot of blood, and character death. Rated M for horrifying content.


Thunder and rushing rainwater echoed through the dark and empty streets of Royal Woods, Michigan. Those who believed in a higher power such as God took this to mean that a horrible omen was going to occur this night. But for those who didn't, this was simply a bunch of rain that would just pass soon. The latter thought process was what occurred in the mind of Lincoln Loud, who was searching for an umbrella. Where on earth would he be going at this time of night in weather like this? Well, he was actually going to Clyde's house. Why? Because he was told that he _needed_ to go to Clyde's place. Strangely enough, Clyde did not give him a solid and plausible reason to do so, but Lincoln knew that it had to be important given the fact that Clyde said Lincoln _needed_ to go.

Once he found the umbrella, Lincoln snuck out of the house and walked down the street to his best friend's house. Despite his body being shielded by the umbrella, crisp cold wind struck against his body, which was expected since he wasn't wearing a jacket. Luckily, he made it to the McBride house in just under five minutes. When Linc walked up to the front door, he noticed that the door was slightly open. Clyde's front door was always locked, but this time, it wasn't even closed all the way. Lincoln pushed the door open, allowing a loud creak to escape from it. The McBride house was completely dark, which might have meant the storm caused the house to lose power.

"Clyde? You here?" Lincoln calls out.

An unusually bright lightening flash filled the McBride and revealed a silhouette of Clyde standing in the middle of the living room. The ominous sight caused a small gasp to escape from the white-haired boy's mouth. Clyde's silhouette raised his arm in the air and pulled a cord that was attached to the ceiling. He pulled the cord and turned on a single lightbulb swinging wildly on a single chain.

"Hello Lincoln, glad you could make it," Clyde whispers ominously.

"Uhhh, hi buddy," Lincoln squeaks nervously.

"Come inside Linc. The storm is most unbecoming," Clyde says.

Lincoln raised an eyebrow in confusion since Clyde has never used the word "unbecoming" before. He did what he was told and closed and locked the door. He places the soaked umbrella on the floor. Clyde placed his hand on a wooden chair.

"Come on Linc. Have a seat," Clyde urged.

Feeling uneasy, Lincoln slowly stepped towards the chair and sat in it. Clyde tightly wrapped thin but strong pieces of rope across Lincoln's stomach and arms and tied it around the back of the chair.

"What are you doing? Why are you tying me up?!" Lincoln urgently asked, with a hint of panic in his voice.

"So you can't stop me," Clyde simply said.

"Stop you? From doing what?" Lincoln wonders.

After Lincoln was tightly secured by the ropes tied to the back of the chair, Clyde stood in front of his best friend.

"I've got a new hobby now Lincoln. You get to watch me do it," Clyde explains, "and the best part is that as my best friend, you get a front row seat to see it."

Lincoln starts to squirm a little in his chair.

"I still don't understand why you tied me up like this," Lincoln stopped squirming and looked up at Clyde straight in the eyes.

"What exactly is this hobby of yours?" Lincoln questions suspiciously while narrowing his eyes.

Clyde does not answer his question. Instead, he reaches into his left pocket and grabs a long thin sewing needle. He raises his right index finger in the air and deeply punctures said finger with the needle. After the needle is released from his index finger, blood leaks out of it. Lincoln gives a slightly worried look as he watches a trickle of blood emerge from his best friend's finger. Clyde used his bloody finger to trace the letter C on his right cheek and the letters McB on his left cheek, which were of course his first and last initials.

"Th-that's your hobby?"

"Oh there's more to it than that," Clyde says in a sultry tone of voice.

Clyde turns Lincoln's chair so that he's facing the kitchen. Clyde nonchalantly walks to the kitchen and opens the drawer that his family keeps their silverware and cutlery in. As he rummages through the drawer, Lincoln looks at his best friend and sees a small drop of blood land on the tile floor.

"Ah here we go. Just what I needed," Clyde says.

"N-need what?" Lincoln shivers.

A look of satisfaction spread across the African American boy's face as he turned around and faced Lincoln; holding a typical cutting knife in his left hand.

"Clyde?! What are you doing with that?!" Lincoln questions anxiously.

Once again, Clyde does not answer his best friend's question. Instead, he places the black handle of the knife in his mouth as he rolls up his right sleeve. Once his sleeve is rolled up all the way to his shoulder, he takes the knife's handle out of his mouth and holds the sharp blade tantalizingly right above his upward facing arm. Once Lincoln caught on to what Clyde was doing, his eyes and mouth widen in shock.

"(Gasp) Clyde! No! Don't do that!" Lincoln shouts as he starts to furiously squirm in his chair.

"Can't stop me, can't stop me," Clyde taunted.

Seeing how there's no hope in getting himself released from the ropes, Lincoln stops moving and looks fearfully at his friend. Then it happened; Clyde used the blade of the knife to cut his arm. First, he made a vertical incision starting from his wrist and made his way downward and stopped just above his elbow. While he was slicing himself, Clyde had a sick toothy grin on his face and only slightly twitched his eye to show pain. Lincoln on the other hand had his mouth hanging open in fear and disbelief. Next, Clyde made a horizontal incision across his first cut so that it slightly resembled a cross. Since both boys were Catholic, it made Lincoln incredibly uncomfortable to see Clyde cut himself in the shape of a religious symbol. Once Clyde was finished, he holds the knife up and looks at it with a look of sick twisted satisfaction as his own blood drips from the knife. Then, without wiping it off,he places the knife on the kitchen table.

"CLYDE! I demand to know! Why are you doing this?! This is stupid and dangerous! Why! Why! Why!" Lincoln hollers in a furious matter.

Clyde uses his left index finger to wipe blood from his cross shaped incisions. He glances at Lincoln and again at his bloody finger.

"Answer me! Why are you doing this?!" Lincoln shouts.

Clyde gives a small grin as he walks up to Lincoln. Lincoln obviously can't take his eyes off the bloody cross on his best friend's arm, but Clyde turns Lincoln's head so that they are looking each other in the eyes.

"Because I like it!" Clyde harshly slashed his bloody finger against Lincoln's cheek so that his blood is rubbed on his best friend's face. Once that was finished, Clyde walked back to the kitchen.

"Wha...ji...buh...duh...WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LIKE IT?!" Lincoln screamed at the top of his lungs.

Suddenly, as if on cue, a gigantic lightning flash filled the dark McBride house followed by an immensely loud thunder crash that was enough to shake the walls.

"Lincoln hush. You're gonna disturb God," Clyde says in a chilling ominous tone.

The mention of God in a, for lack of better word, _hellish_ situation sent a chill down Lincoln's spine and made his heart sink. Before Lincoln could protest, Clyde holds up what appears to be a box cutter with the blade extended.

"What are you going to do with that?" Lincoln asks, barely able to ask without shivering. Clyde gives a sick twisted grin and walks towards Lincoln.

"You want your ears pierced Linc?" Clyde asks in a tone reminiscent of a psychopath.

With eyes wide and pupils constricted, Lincoln began to furiously writhe in a panicked state.

"Clyde, I swear to GOD if you come near me with that thing…" Lincoln couldn't finish that sentence because Clyde was approaching him and the white-haired boy was getting more and more terrified. It wasn't long before they were only less than a foot away from each other.

"NO! Get away from me you psycho! GET AWAY!" Because Lincoln's legs were not tied up, he lifted his right leg and gave a wild kick. The kick allowed the box cutter to go flying out of Clyde's hand and land on the floor. Clyde drops to his knees and gives Lincoln a seemingly pleading look.

"Lincoln, why are you trying to screw up my hobby?" Clyde whines as he rubs his left hand on his cross shaped lacerations.

"Clyde...This is NOT A FUCKING HOBBY!" Lincoln screams.

Once again, Lincoln raises his leg in the air and tries to kick Clyde in the head, but he rightfully dodges it. Clyde crawls across the floor and grabs the box cutter. After he gets up, he stares at Lincoln with a look of disapproval.

"Lincoln. You said a curse word. Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk. Naughty, naughty," Clyde scolds in a crazed tone of voice.

He took the box cutter and punctured a hole in both of his earlobes with blood leaking out and again having almost no reaction. Lincoln watched in horror as he realizes that this is what Clyde meant when he asked him if he wanted his "ears pierced". His stomach and chest started to ache at the notion that Clyde was so close to doing this to him.

"Clyde, will you please stop doing this?! Let me go! We've gotta get you to a hospital!" Lincoln argues.

Clyde places the box cutter on the counter next to the bloody knife he used earlier. He silently stares at Lincoln for about 10 seconds before turning around and walking back to the drawer that he got his previous weapons from.

As he was rummaging through the drawer, Lincoln's emotion changes from angry to disheartened. He hated seeing his best friend doing this to himself. And what's worse is that he claims that he likes it and is doing this completely in earnest. Clyde had finally removed an item from the drawer and placed it on the counter next to him, but Lincoln couldn't tell what it was. Finally, Clyde turned around and faced Lincoln. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulled it up over his head, and removed it from his body.

"Why did you take off your shirt?" Lincoln wonders, again having a tear leave one of his eyes.

"So that this night will have a grand finale," Clyde responds with the same twisted grin he had all night.

Lincoln heaved a sigh of defeat and closed his eyes while he continues to cry. Clyde removes a small pocket knife from another one of his pockets.

"But not yet. There's a couple more things I wanna do before I get to my grand finale," Clyde says as he holds the pocket knife up and shows it to Lincoln.

"Clyde McBride...you poked your finger, cut a cross on your arm, and pierced your ears with a box cutter. What more could you possibly DO?!" Lincoln protests.

"Oh, ho, ho Lincoln Loud. That was just a preview of my new hobby. There's a lot more I wanna show you," Clyde declared as he spun the pocket knife around like a baton.

Rather than arguing or begging him to cease his self harm, Lincoln just loudly groaned while looking at the ceiling.

"Oh hush up. Your sisters do weird stuff all the time," Clyde says nonchalantly.

"NOT CUT THEMSELVES YOU IDIOT!" Lincoln hollers.

Once again, as if eerily on cue, a lightning flash and thunder crash filled the house.

"Oh my goodness Lincoln. Your constant yelling seems to be making God upset," Clyde whispers.

"Grrr. _I'm_ not making God upset! _You're_ making God upset!" Lincoln growls.

"Oh really? Then how come there's thunder and lightning only after you scream and yell at me? Hmmm? Riddle me that Linc," Clyde teases.

Lincoln's body slightly goes stiff as he realizes that the scary thunder and lightning does occur only after he berates Clyde.

Holding his left hand up in plain view of Lincoln, and holding the pocket knife in his right hand, Clyde places the blade on his palm underneath his index finger and slices himself diagonally towards the bottom corner of his hand. Even though both boys hissed in pain, Clyde was quiet and subtle while it was Lincoln who was over-the-top. He then places the blade underneath his pinky and makes another diagonal cut towards his thumb. The carvings on his palm so far resembled an X, but he turns to Lincoln and smirks.

"Hey Linc, wanna see what I can turn this X into?" Clyde asks while waving his knife like the conductor of an orchestra.

Lincoln silently stares at the bloody X on his best friend's palm and tries to think of what Clyde could be talking about. When he figures it out, the color completely drains from his face and becomes almost as white as his hair.

"(Gasp) YOU WOULDN'T!" Lincoln gasps in absolute horror.

Sure enough, Clyde keeps cutting himself until the gash on his hand vaguely resembles a swastika. Once he finishes, he places the pocket knife on the counter and shoots his bloody swastika clad hand into the air in a Nazi salute. He starts to laugh in a crazed maniacal tone while rapid flashes of lightning followed by a monstrous thunder clap occur in the outside world.

With pupils now constricted to the size of peas and sweat pouring down his temples, Lincoln's teeth chatter and his heart races as he sees this, this MONSTER in front of him. After the downright horrific scene ends, Lincoln looks down at the front of his pants and sees that he has soiled himself.

"Gee Linc. Had I known you were gonna piss yourself, I would've put a bedpan underneath you," Clyde jokes as blood drips from his palm.

Lincoln doesn't say anything but instead just pants heavily. Clyde places the pocket knife that he used to cut the swastika onto his hand on the counter and grabs the knife he used earlier to cut the cross onto his arm.

"Hey Lincoln, do you mind if I wipe the blood from this knife on your shirt?" Clyde says.

"Don't you dare come near me with that thing you evil piece of shit DEVIL SPAWN!" Lincoln screams, while putting an animalistic emphasis on the words "devil spawn".

Clyde's eyes widen in surprise, "Wow Linc, it was just a joke. C'mon, like I'd really wipe my blood on you," Clyde laughs.

Lincoln, of course, is not amused by Clyde's crude joke and gives him a look of resentment while softly growling. Clyde uses a paper towel to wipe the surface of the knife. Once the blood is completely wiped off and after the paper towel is properly disposed, Clyde digs the tip of the blade into his left cheek right underneath his eye. He slowly moves the knife down his cheek while really thick amounts of blood squeezes out of the gash. The sight was enough to make Lincoln feel a little queasy, which even he was surprised to find out was barely happening now. Once the knife completely dissected Clyde's cheek, he used the blade to open a small portion of his skin, which simply revealed more blood from the inside of his cheek.

Lincoln's stomach started to get even more queasy to the point where he felt like throwing up. Despite his hands being restrained by the ropes, he's still able to slightly shift his hand so that it touches his stomach.

"Linc? You're looking a little pale. Something wrong champ?" Clyde wonders, removing the knife from his cheek.

Lincoln does not answer his question, but instead breathes heavily while clutching onto his stomach, which is something he always did whenever he tries to to stop himself from tossing his cookies all over the place.

Clyde just shrugs as he takes the same knife he used to cut his cheek and stabs the corner of his forehead. Slowly and carefully, Clyde lacerates himself all the way across his forehead while tiny trickles of blood make their way down his forehead. The only noise that Clyde makes while doing this is a semi loud hiss of pain. This particular sight was enough for Lincoln to realize that his stomach can't quite handle it any longer.

"Clyde...I think I'm gonna puke," Lincoln mutters as he removes his hand from his stomach.

In response to this statement, Clyde glances at Lincoln while he continues slaughtering his forehead and simply chuckles.

"No man, ooh, urp, I'm serious. I'm for real gonna throw up," Lincoln groans. His face turns a strange pale green color and his cheeks expand as if he has something in his mouth, which of course is his vomit.

"Here, barf in that," Clyde says in a slightly irritated tone as he kicks a nearby mini trash can towards Lincoln.

Lincoln leans forward until his head is hovering right above the trash can. He opened his mouth and allowed thick, sickly green stuff to exit his mouth and enter the trash can. Lincoln continues to throw up for a solid 15 seconds. Once he thinks he's had enough, he coughs and pants heavily while there is still vomit on his bottom lip.

"Gee, I had a feeling you were gonna get sick, but I thought it was gonna get sick, but I thought it was gonna happen way earlier," Clyde commented rather casually.

Lincoln had the urge to give Clyde the middle finger but realized he couldn't because he was all tied up, so he simply muttered "fuck off".

Clyde grabbed a paper towel and walked towards Lincoln. "Here Lincoln, let's wipe your mouth," Clyde whispers in a comforting tone.

While Clyde was doing so, a feeling of dread and betrayal filled Lincoln's heart and mind. The person that he thought he knew has been reduced to nothing more than a maniacal bloodthirsty masochist with an extremely depraved mind that finds pleasure in carving himself much like a butcher would carve a piece of meat. The very thought of seeing his best friend in the world doing this to himself and in front of his eyes made Lincoln tear up again.

"Don't cry, my friend, don't cry," Clyde comforts as he uses his thumb to wipe away a tear that trickled down Lincoln's cheek.

After Clyde had finished wiping off the vomit from Lincoln's mouth and properly disposes the paper towel he used to do so, Clyde backed away and looked at Lincoln with a look of sincerity.

"I think it's about that time," Clyde says with a smile on his face.

"What the hell else is there?!" Lincoln wails as tears pour out of his eyes.

"My grand finale," Clyde walks towards the kitchen and holds up what looks like a meat cleaver.

 _My God, he really is butchering himself, meat cleaver and all!_ "Clyde, don't do DARE! You're gonna KILL yourself!" Lincoln howls as the built-in floodgates of his eyes burst.

While standing there and watching his best friend cry like a big baby, Clyde holds the meat cleaver in his hand while casually shaking his head. Lincoln briefly pauses from crying and looks Clyde in the eye.

"Clyde, (sniff) are you trying to kill yourself? (sniff)," Lincoln pleaded in a somber tone.

"Of course not Lincoln. Can I help that I have a newfound pleasure in hurting myself?" Clyde shrugs casually as if inflicting pain to himself was a perfectly normal thing to do.

"(Gasp) AHHHHH!" Lincoln yowled as tears poured out of his eyes in the same way water bursts out of a dam.

An exasperated sigh escapes from Clyde's mouth as he stares at Lincoln while clutching the meat cleaver in his hand.

"(Sigh) Lincoln, if you don't stop crying, I can't concentrate," Clyde says in slight irritation.

Now feeling angry again, Lincoln looks at Clyde. "GOOD! I'm glad I'm freaking breaking your goddamn concentration! You shouldn't be doing this you idiot! Don't you see what you are doing?! Hurting yourself is NOT normal! I don't care if for whatever sick twisted reason you LIKE doing this! It's DAN-GER-OUS!" Lincoln berated loudly.

"If it isn't normal, then how come some people actually do this huh?" Clyde asks in a teasing tone.

Realizing that he's still tied up and couldn't facepalm himself, Lincoln instead grits his teeth and throws his head up towards the ceiling.

"CLYDE! People who do this are not right in the head! They are insane! But you are perfectly fine! Your mentality is stable…" Lincoln's rant is interrupted by horrible thoughts that his best friend may be insane. But that's impossible, right? To confirm his sudden suspicion, Lincoln looks at Clyde while his eyes once again well with tears.

"Isn't it?" Lincoln squeaks.

"Lincoln Loud, I am not insane. My mind is perfectly stable. Come on man, how long have you known me? Five, six years now? There's nothing wrong with me bud. I just found a new hobby in cutting myself. You understand don't you?" Clyde explains.

Feeling sick, betrayed, sorrowful, distressed, and heartsick all at once; Lincoln just closed his eyes and lowered his head as the tears that were built up in his eyes calmly flow down his cheeks.

Since he has no more interruptions, Clyde can now concentrate on what he was going to do. He tilts the meat cleaver and digs the sharpened edge into his stomach and makes a diagonal incision (about half an inch long). Then he makes another diagonal cut (about 3 inches long) in the opposite direction right on the edge of the first cut.

"Ooh, ouch," Clyde whispers.

His quiet expression of pain immediately caught Lincoln's attention and he shot his head up and looked at Clyde. Despite his vision slightly becoming blurred from his tears, he was able to make out what was in front of him.

"Oh what the hell are you doing now?" Lincoln asks in a now defeated and exasperated tone.

"This is my grand finale I've been telling you about. I'm carving a heart on my stomach," Clyde squeals as he clutches the bloody meat cleaver in his hand.

Lincoln takes a minute to silently look at his masochistic best friend. Every single bloody gash on his body of every size and shape made Lincoln feel more sick and devastated. He was terrified that Clyde was going to lose a lot of blood and eventually fall unconscious.

"Clyde, before you continue...doing what you're doing...cut me loose," Lincoln pleads.

"Cut you loose?" Clyde asks.

"Yeah, you know, cut these ropes off of me," Lincoln says, getting mad.

Clyde silently stares at Lincoln and raises an eyebrow as if he doesn't know what Lincoln means.

"NOW CLYDE! LET ME GO!" Lincoln demanded.

With a roll of his eyes, Clyde places the meat cleaver on the counter and grabs the box cutter.

"Lincoln Loud, before I cut you loose, let me tell you something important. And you'd better listen carefully, cause I'm only gonna say this once," Clyde mumbles bitterly.

"Fine whatever," Lincoln argues.

Clyde gets closer to Lincoln until both their faces touch. "If you attack me, call an ambulance, the police, or my dads, talk me out of it, try to pry the cleaver out of my hand, or even touch me, not only can you kiss this friendship goodbye but I'll cut you too," Clyde growls menacingly.

Lincoln's heart skips several beats as he listens to his best friend tell him all the things he doesn't want him to do. Of course, the one thing that made his heart stop and make his blood run cold was Clyde threatening to end the friendship and threatening to cut him too.

With sweat dripping from his temple and tears dripping from his eyes, Lincoln gives a really shaky nod. "(Gulp) D-d-deal," Lincoln shivered.

Giving a smug look, Clyde uses the box cutter to cut the ropes off of Lincoln. After said ropes fall off the boy's body and drop onto the floor, he clutches the edge of the chair with both hands. His teeth loudly chatter as he watches Clyde continue to butcher himself.

"I'd better finish my heart," Clyde continues to use the meat cleaver to cut a shape on his stomach that vaguely resembles a heart, but more straight and angular instead of curvy like a typical heart.

The amount of blood coming from Clyde's stomach was so much and so overwhelming that it made Lincoln feel sick again, but not quite to the point of throwing up a second time.

Once he was finished, Clyde pointed his hands towards his stomach as though he were giving an important presentation. "Voila," Clyde says triumphantly.

"T-that's a lot of b-blood," Lincoln stammers.

All of a sudden, Clyde started to feel weak and frail. He placed a hand on the area in the middle of the heart that he had carved onto his stomach.

"Y-yeah. It really is, ugh, isn't it?" Clyde groans.

With a hand still on his stomach, Clyde gingerly places his other hand on his forehead, right on top of the incision he made on his forehead earlier.

Lincoln notices his friend's weakened demeanor and realized that he was in trouble.

"Clyde? Are you alright?" Lincoln shivers.

"Ohh, uh, yeah. I just (pant, pant) feel kinda (pant, pant) weak," Clyde groans while breathing heavily and closing his eyes.

The butchered boy completely lost his strength and ability to stand, so he suddenly and quite violently dropped onto the hard tile floor with a thud. Liters of blood started to freely gush out of each and every open wound that Clyde had inflicted on his body.

"CLYYYYYDE!" Lincoln screamed at the top of his lungs.

He rushed straight to his best friend's aid. Ignoring the amount of blood that was now on the floor, still leaking out of the wounds, and on Clyde's hands, Lincoln places his own hand on the back of Clyde's head and raised him up.

"Clyde! Oh Clyde! Please buddy, you can't die on me! You just...you just can't," Lincoln's tone immediately changes from panicked to heartbroken.

While still raising Clyde's head up with one hand, Lincoln placed his other hand on Clyde's chest, hoping he could still feel his heartbeat.

"Clyde. You can't go, there's still time," Lincoln whispers while trying as best as he can to fight back tears so that he can appear strong and brave for Clyde's sake.

Clyde's eyes flutter open and he slowly places a hand on top of Lincoln's hand. He takes notice of this and looks at his fallen friend.

"It's all over for me. It's...ugh...it's time to say goodbye," Clyde moans weakly.

There it was, the one word that Lincoln both feared and hated the most: goodbye. He hated hearing the word in pretty much any circumstance because in his young and fragile mind, goodbye usually means that he won't see that person again in a long time. Of course hearing goodbye when somebody is on their deathbed is a million times worse since he knew that he'd NEVER see that person again. The waterworks started again so tears pour down both of Lincoln's eyes.

"Clyde…" was all Lincoln could say.

"Lincoln, ugh, listen to me. I (pant) I need you to...say goodbye to everybody else for me. Tell my dads I love them, tell your sisters including Lori that I (pant, pant) really respect them and I'm sorry I didn't (groan) get to know them better," Clyde moaned.

The speech broke Lincoln's heart into a million pieces as he started to realize that Clyde is legitimately dying right in his arms without any other loved ones present. Although he had very little strength left, Clyde lifted his hand up towards Lincoln's face. Lincoln decides to help his friend out by leaning forward so that Clyde can properly place his hand on his cheek.

"Lincoln. You're my best friend. You know that right? You're like the brother I never had and I'm like the brother you always wanted. You know that right?" Clyde whispers. Lincoln responds by giving a soft sob.

"Listen to me. You take good care of yourself and your sisters, understand?" Clyde's heartbeat starts to slow down.

"Thank you for everything. Thank you for being my best friend in the universe and thank you for being here in my (pant, pant) last moments here on earth," Clyde's strength completely deteriorates and releases his hand from Lincoln's cheek.

"Goodbye Lincoln. I love you."

That was it. Clyde McBride, age 11, died. He had left this world and is now ascending to the next. Lincoln simply stared solemnly at the bloody lifeless shell that formerly belonged to the boy that expired at the young, healthy, and tender age of 11. He then looked up towards heaven, where Clyde's soul would surely be rising in the direction of eternal bliss.

"Goodbye Clyde. I love you too."


End file.
